


Tomorrow

by alasondria



Category: Phantasy Star Online 2
Genre: F/M, Luthaly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 02:53:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21236954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alasondria/pseuds/alasondria
Summary: He tries earnestly to forget the news, to forget Lutz, to forget the castle, the country, his duties. But no solace came.





	Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> bit of character introspection re: Lutz's betrayal

A storm pelts Cuent.

The wagon sways under the weight of the passengers; its rickety teetering and sudden lurches had a handful of the militia retreating to solid ground instead, choosing to make the trek from the capital to the outskirts of Cuent on foot.

However, two remained within, hidden by the makeshift curtain of torn up banners. Cuent’s emblem on one, faded and discoloured, stares back at Luther from where he sat.

Leaning on his side, sleeping her exhaustion away, her face no longer contorted into a woeful sob, though her cries still rang in his head, was Harriet. She breathes in and out in a steady rhythm, the bumpy road doing little to perturb her rest. Luther draws an arm around her and pulls her close, gloved hand idly smoothing her tousled hair down. Harriet mumbles something and leans further into her brother’s embrace. Unconsciously, she slumps forward, her forehead falling onto Luther’s shoulder. He stares down at her, unmoving for but a moment, and then relaxes. 

Wrapping both his arms around her shoulders, Luther holds his sister tight and closes his eyes. He tries earnestly to forget the news, to forget Lutz, to forget the castle, the country, his duties.

But no solace came.

And so he focuses on the last remnant of his family. Harriet.

Strong, free-spirited Harriet, laughing against the roar of the wind as she runs across the courtyard with Valna, narrowly beating him in a race that he know doubt held back on for her sake.

Passionate, outspoken Harriet in a meeting of ambassadors from all of Omega’s sovereign kingdoms, fending them off from plucking at their land and resources.

Young, innocent Harriet in her first real gown, commissioned by their mother from the most prestigious tailor in all of Cuent, smiling sheepishly behind a fan as their father takes her arm and leads her to the castle balcony where hundreds of citizens of Cuent await to see their princess.

Their father. Esmond Leo Ray Cuent.

Luther’s grip on Harriet tightens absently.

The late king of Cuent.

Harriet stirs ever so in her slumber, forcing Luther out of his reverie. He notices the near white-knuckle grip he has on his sister and he quickly loosens his hold. Harriet’s brows pinch in her sleep but she does not waken. Luther watches her closely, taking in the fleeting twitches of her face. He notices the way her eyes are ringed and swollen at the lower lid and his mind does not hesitate to supply him with a memory of her anguished screams.

He sighs low to himself and shakes his head, the ache settling deep inside his body.

A soldier springs out of nowhere from behind the shoddy curtain, the visor on his helmet is flipped up and Luther can barely make out a youthful visage. He salutes swiftly and proclaims that they’re nearing the outskirts. Luther gives an idle nod of his head and thanks the soldier, who looks at him curiously and then reminds him that they’ve still a ways to go, about two hours, and shouldn’t his majesty try to get some sleep in?

Luther manages a laugh, though it sounds distant, and he mentions that he’ll get plenty when they arrive, for now he’ll continue to watch the princess. The soldier’s attention flickers between brother and sister and he gives a curt ‘understood’ before releasing the curtain. The light filtering in from outside disappears as the makeshift cover falls back into its place and Luther is left alone in the dark.

The rain overhead continues to drum its ceaseless song against the wagon.

Today, a storm pelts Cuent.

But tomorrow is another day.

* * *

  
  
  


Today they’ll try to rebuild.

They arrive at the southern front the next morning. The village is just waking up when the wagon bearing the royal siblings rolls through the main gate. A pair of soldiers sent ahead of them to prepare the town for their arrival emerge from the tavern; two youths, a boy and a girl, with their helmets off and cuts dotting their foreheads, injuries sustained from fending off the assassins Lutz had sent in retaliation. The young boy waves enthusiastically to the other soldiers. The girl turns and calls out to a gentleman with dark skin and white hair.

He rushes over to the back of the wagon without delay, pulling the curtain aside.

Luther, who’d hardly slept at all, is torn from his brief bout of drowsiness and squints hard at the ray of light glaring in his face.

“My apologies, your majesty,” the man offers and Luther waves a dismissive hand in the air.

“We’re here then?”

“Yes. We have prepared rooms for Lord Luther and Lady Harriet.”

“My thanks,” Luther replies, scrubbing his fingers through his hair before he turns over to wake his sister.

He places a hand on her shoulder and shakes gently. Harriet grumbles. Luther shakes her once more. Harriet groans and rises from her slumber in a sluggish haze, muttering things under her breath as she rubs the sleep from her eyes. Her hair has fallen out of its careful buns and rests plastered instead against her forehead and cheek in a decidedly unflattering fashion. Luther’s mouth forms a taut line as he withholds a bark of laughter.

The man outside the wagon averts his gaze to do the same.

Harriet frowns mightily. “What?”

“Nothing you need worry about,” Luther swiftly supplies. “Let’s be on our way, shall we? Please show us to our rooms.”

The man gives the siblings a curt bow and removes himself from the wagon’s exit, holding the drapery aside for them as he does. Harriet shoots her brother a look to which he responds with a shrug of his shoulders and feigned innocence as he gestures animatedly outside.

“Heirs to the throne first.”

“Cheeky,” Harriet counters with a huff.

A soldier waiting on the opposite side of the man extends his hand for Harriet, who accepts it with a gracious nod of her head. As Harriet takes her first steps around the village a blurred figure comes barreling towards her, shouting her name.

“Lady Harriet! Are you unharmed?!”

Bracing a firm grip on her shoulders suddenly is Valna, his face wild and covered in sweat. Behind him, hiding a tiny smile behind her hand, is Alasondria. Luther’s attention is ripped promptly from his sister’s flustered adjutant to his aide and he immediately makes a beeline for her. Though he tries in earnest to keep himself composed, it’s plain as day the sheer joy the prince felt seeing Alasondria after the hell they’d narrowly escaped.

“I cannot imagine you slept well at all,” she says, her cadence soft and tinged with concern and the way it soothes Luther’s frayed nerves was like a cool salve on a burn.

He wordlessly encircles his arms around her waist and pulls her close, craning his neck to nose her hair. Alasondria laughs, amused by the way her usually reserved prince, who largely kept his hands to himself when in public, now wasted no time embracing her while utterly surrounded by soldiers and citizens of Cuent alike. Those who caught the spectacle could be seen averting their gazes with sheepish smiles, affording the prince and his aide a modicum of privacy in this sorely needed reprieve.

Harriet peers openly, an impish grin pulling at her lips as she beholds her older brother letting decorum fall to the wayside. Valna blinks between prince and princess, balking. 

“Lady Harriet,” he says tersely.

Harriet covers her mouth with both hands, curbing a giggle as she turns her attention to her adjutant, his expression less than pleased. He motioned his head towards the mayor of the village, the man with dark skin and white hair, who quirked a brow at them. Harriet nods, clears her throat quietly, and dusts herself down.

“Let’s be off,” she whispers to the mayor. “My brother will catch up. For now, I think we should leave him be.”

Valna rolls his eyes.

The trio makes their way towards the tavern, villagers parting like a sea as they take notice of who the mayor escorted. Some cheer for the princess’ arrival at a distance while others swarm her suddenly, inquiring with tearful voices as to how her majesty is doing. Harriet offers thanks and placations and politely asks them to allow her forward. She needed her rest, she tells them, but she’d be glad to reconvene tomorrow morning to discuss the future of their nation together.

Today, they’ll try to rebuild.

And tomorrow is always another day.


End file.
